Close
by Ozwin
Summary: And maybe that was it. Once you see through our bluffs, we're one and the same.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own Avengers, unfortunately.

Close

Eleven in the evening. This was the usual time he came.

There were a lot of things I would do as I wait. Curl up on the sofa and read a novel. Switch on the television. Hide under the sheets. Or even just sit there against a wall, anticipating his arrival.

He would always arrive.

The first time he did, it was only a rough fight. Scratching, growling, slapping, and the like. One would suggest to scream or call for someone, but it felt...different. I realized then that I didn't _want _him to be caught.

He had given me a confused look then, expecting me to shout for help. He expected me to do something rational. Because that was me, wasn't it? The Black Widow, the agent with no feelings, the one who does her job and nothing else.

But I didn't want that to define all I am. And I was ready to prove that. To him.

"Strange," he had murmured slowly, before proceeding to yank my hair sharply.

We had continued to fight, but I was no match for him. I knew I was going to lose any other way.

But just when he had a blade ready to slit my throat, he disappeared.

The next few nights were all fights then. He arrived every time, and I fought again. But it was half-hearted. He always ended up as the dominant one, and I would oblige to let him win.

And he would always be close to killing me. His strong hands close to strangling me to death, a sharp knife poking me in the ribs, and all the situations you can think of. But he would just disappear.

Was he actually showing mercy? The God of Lies, softening? It seemed ridiculous.

This was the man who caused the mass killing at New York City. The man who murdered Phil Coulson, a good friend, a dedicated agent. And he did all this with a smirk plastered on his face.

So why now? And why to me?

But I didn't mind. I continued to wait for his arrival, and we would do our fighting tango all over again. And I would always lose.

And I still didn't mind. In fact, I decided that I found the foreign feeling of being overpowered quite exhilarating.

Then there came this one night, after about an entire week of meaningless fighting.

I was defeated once again, pinned against the wall with his slender but strong hands ready to snap my neck. I had stared into his green eyes and saw a strange emotion mixed with all the anger and coldness. At the time, I didn't understand what it was.

And then I felt a strange feeling at the pit of my stomach as well as I stared into his orbs. It was an old feeling, and my whole body had shuddered.

He had looked confused for a moment, before yanked my neck free, grabbed his jet black hair, and crushed my lips onto his until I thought they would bruise.

And it had been a strange, long night.

I was snapped back into the present when I felt the atmosphere around me drop a few degrees. He was here.

I turned around, and of course, found myself pushed harshly against the wall. I grabbed his wrist and turn him sharply around, ready to kick him down. But of course, he was too clever for that. He grabbed my thigh and pulled, making me fall backwards and crack my head against the corner of the wall.

I made an unintentional groan, rolling over to my side. But I wasn't going to give up just yet.

He approached me, and I kicked his ankle. He fell forward with a grunt, but he steadied himself with his arms. My head was still pounding, my ears ringing. My fall had really been powerful. He was too strong.

He gracefully pushed himself to his feet. I decided to heave a deep breath and do the same.

I swung a punch directed to his chin, but he skillfully ducked before my knuckles hit him. He continued to avoid all the punches and kicks I created, and I was getting agitated.

I growled. Sensing my frustration, he smirked. I would be lying if I say that his smirk didn't affect me at all, or affect the heat at the pit of my stomach.

And he took that moment to swing at my cheek, sending me to the floor again. The world swirled around me, and I've had enough of the fighting. I breathed heavily and rolled so that I would face the ceiling.

"Your cheek," he simply said without any emotion, not sounding even the tiniest bit of tired. His eyes never left mine.

I raised a hand to my injured cheek. I closed my eyes, feeling the tenderness. There was obviously a bruise.

Then he did something I did not expect. He kneeled next to me, offering me a hand. My eyes drifted to his, and his emerald orbs hid all emotions. But I knew him too well.

That was it. I could not handle this any longer.

I grabbed his hand and shoved him down on his back, and he growled. But before he could recover, I pushed myself on top of him and planted my lips on his.

It may have been just my imagination, but I think I heard a sigh of relief escape from his lips.

It was a long night. We did some kind of strange dance, lips rarely leaving each other. I didn't know at what point he carried me to the mattress, but I did not care. As long as I was close to him.

As his perfect, cold fingers travelled around me, I wondered very much. What exactly was happening between us? It was not exactly love. At least, that's what I tell myself. But I knew that it wasn't just lust, either.

He and I - we're different. He was Asgardian, more powerful than anyone I have ever fought, more powerful than myself. I was a mortal, maybe less powerful than he is, but powerful nonetheless.

But we were exactly the same, too. He was a murderer, owning a red ledger just like I did. Ours dripped red from all the blood we've each spilled. I didn't enjoy thinking about it, and even though he would deny it, I knew he didn't either. It was a reminder that if hell did exist, we would be the lucky few to be the first in line.

And maybe that was it. Once you see through our bluffs, we're one and the same. And that was the one that made us attract, why we longed for each other's presence.

"I sense your mind is troubled," I heard him whisper, and I opened my eyes, staring into his own.

And yes, did I see myself. Not only the mere physical reflection of myself into his eyes, but also because I saw my own emotions in them.

I had the strong urge to trace the angles of his face with my own fingers, but I fought it. It seemed to intimate and absurd. Well, as if everything else we have been doing wasn't intimate.

Without another word, he continued on.

It was a long night.

* * *

"Hm?"

We were lying on the mattress, slightly facing each other. There was still a significant amount of distance between us.

"What are we?" I said again, searching his eyes.

He looked down slightly, his expression unreadable. "Certainly not friends."

"Lovers seems like a stupid term too, doesn't it?"

For the first time in a long time, I saw him smile. Not his usual smirk, but a genuine smile. Although it was small, it was still surprising to see it, on his face especially.

"I do not know what we are. But nor do I actually wonder." His words were slow and casual.

He did another thing I did not expect. He noticed a rebel lock of red hair fall across my face, and he slowly brushed it away with his fingers. It was a simple gesture, yet I could not help but appreciate it.

"It's frustrating," he sighed.

I waited for him to say something more, but he did not.

I understood. He did not want to let me think about what to make of this, because for one, he himself doesn't.

I still do not know what this was. But maybe I never will. All I knew was that I wanted him around. I do not know whether this will last or not, but maybe for once, the God of Lies said something right. I shouldn't wonder.

Because this was enough. To be close to him, even just for a few hours of the night.

I hadn't fallen asleep yet when I felt him leave.

_End._


End file.
